No One Mourns the Wicked, but What About the Good?
by ThatGuyRex
Summary: A dark fic dealing with Glinda, Elphaba and how the events of 'Wicked' continued to change their lives further down the road. COMPLETED.
1. Who Will Mourn the Good?

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
The slim, blonde woman eases herself carefully into the polished wood seat of the writing desk. A creamy sheet of paper in front of her, she stares at the face behind her eyelids for a moment before touching the paper. Tucking a curly, light sprig behind her ear, she begins.  
  
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_ Dear Elphie,  
  
It's been a while. I don't know where you are, or how you are, but I hope wherever you are, you are well.  
  
I have been thinking about that day lately. That one where you told me to come with you, that you were going to fight the wizard. I don't know who was right. Maybe I should have gone with you. Together, we could have stopped things from happening the way they did.  
  
Anyway, I'm not dwelling on the past. I wish you could see my house. I decorated it wonderfully. Don't worry - I left one bedroom bare. It's completely utilitarian, just the way you like it. Just in case you're ever in the area...  
_   
  
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The woman pauses in her writing for a moment. She gazes at the sentence she had written for a long while, before turning away. A tear falls from her face and lands on her overcoat, making a darker spot in the material. A plate sits next to her, and a cup of steaming liquid. She sips slowly from the mug, and manages some of the food with a visible effort.  
  
She balls up the first paper, and begins with a fresh sheet.  
  
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_ Dear Elphie,  
  
You'll never guess what happened to me. My cousin wanted her daughter to learn more about the 'important' people of Oz. Since I am Glinda the Good after all, I took the girl in for a few months.  
  
She was very eager to learn, bright. She reminded me a lot of you.  
  
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_ The woman looks up from her work again, gazing into the far off space for quite a long time. Finally, she discards that sheet as well, and starts anew, a light behind her eyes now. Her movements are precise and full of some emotion, possibly anger.  
  
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_ Dear Elphaba,  
  
It is the thirtieth anniversary since you have left me. I know that somewhere, somehow you will get these messages. I would like you to know that not a day goes by that I don't think of you.   
  
My every day, from waking to sleeping, and even after that, is filled with the knowledge that I sat back and did nothing as the people of Oz celebrated your death. I alone know what sort of person you are. I alone bear the guilt of what has happened....  
  
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_ The uniformed orderly peeks through the door of the bare room. It contains only a bed, and the polished wood writing desk. An elderly woman sits at the desk, her grey hair cascading past her shoulders as she writes feverishly on the sheet of paper in front of her.  
  
"All she does now is write at that desk." The orderly says in a low voice to the woman next to him. "Such a shame, really. She was Glinda the Good, a long time ago." He turns his eyes on the frail figure at the desk, a look of compassion on his face. "She gets like this every time the anniversary rolls around." He sighs, glancing at his companion. "I suppose it was the strain of responsibility that did it."  
  
"Who are the letters to?" The young woman with him asks in a soft voice, so as not to disturb the woman at the desk.  
  
"No one knows." He replies, with a shrug. "She never lets anyone see them." He turns from the door, closing it softly. "It's a shame that someone so Good will die so alone." He says to the girl, as they move down the hallway.  
  
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Author's Notes: I do not own Wicked or Glinda. This fic was based on the musical.  
  
I hope you don't mind that Glinda went crazy. I love Glinda to death, but I really think that eventually she would have gone nuts. She just didn't seem like the type that could take it, and as far as she knew, Elphaba died.  
  
I got the idea for this while listening to the song 'Thank Goodness'. Glinda has a line that goes 'There's a kind of a sort of a... cost. And a couple of things get... lost.'  
  
Apologies for the short fic, but it was an idea I wanted to get out. Thanks for reading.  
  
Love,  
B 


	2. I Have Been Changed For Good

  
  
**No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
**   
The room is cold. The walls are a dingy grey, riddled with cracks. A single cot sits in the middle of the room, and a bundle of black cloth lies upon it. The street outside is silent. The sound of dripping echoes through the dwelling, and the figure on the bed shudders slightly.  
  
  
In her mind, Elphaba moves down the street at a brisk pace.  
The pavement lurches sickeningly beneath her feet, as laughter  
echoes in her ears. She whirls to look behind her, and the  
faces spread along the street blur together in a nauseating streak.  
  
She turns back and begins stumbling along the street, but a boy  
runs out of the crowd, delivering a vicious kick to her ribs.  
She collapses on the ground, gasping for breath, and an aged face  
looms up in front of her. The eyes are sunken, rimmed with tortures  
unspoken, but the the look deep inside them is familiar. Grey curls  
fall past the figure's shoulders, in unkempt spirals. Deep worry lines  
are etched into once rosy skin.  
  
"Elphaba." The figure says to her, in a voice choked with anger.  
"You left me alone, alone with my guilt."  
  
  
Elphaba sits up on the cot with a gasp. Another terrible vision of her old friend. With trembling hands, she pushes back dark hair only beginning to be shot with silver. Taking a few deep breaths, she steadies herself and turns sad eyes on the doorway, still caught up in her thoughts. She was thinking about Glinda much more often than usual lately - the old school friend with whom she had been so close. She had left everyone thinking she was dead, including her friend. Along with haunting her waking thoughts, images of Glinda had recently been invading her sleep as well. Elphaba's eyes are red with lack of sleep, and she knows that she can't let this continue.  
  
Elphaba is skinny as always, though her eyes are a little more sunken, and her face slightly creased. She wears a long black robe, covering the green body that holds her so seperate from society. A veil adorns her head, effectively covering her face, but the odd clothing draws curious looks as well, so Elphaba always keeps to shadows, drawing as little attention as possible.  
  
The dark woman looks towards the dripping noise, drawing her arms around herself protectively. With a deep sigh, she rises to her feet. She begins to move about the room, gathering her few belongings, but she halts at the window. Gazing out, she remains absolutely still for a long time. Her eyes flicker slightly as she weighs her options.  
  
"We did it wrong." She mutters, a catch in her voice as she thinks of her pretty, bright friend, and she closes her eyes in pain as the image in her mind turns into the aged figure in her dream.  
  
Looking around the room with a new fire in her eyes, Elphaba walks to the door. Pulling on her old cloak and veil, she covers her green hands with a pair of gloves, and draws some money out of her pocket. Leaving it on the bed, she slips into the night.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. The plotline was a product of my brain, and chocolate.  
  
Thank you for the reviews! I'm sorry for depressing you... I like dark fics.  
  
And I must confess, when I wrote the first chapter I wasn't really thinking of continuing, that was going to be it. I had to, though. Thanks for the prodding.  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	3. Because I Knew You

  
  
  
  
**No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
**   
Glinda is shattered. Every day, a new piece flakes off of her. She lives in her little room. She sleeps in the bed, eats what is brought to her, and writes at the desk.  
  
She is observed constantly by the orderlies, but no one comes to see her. The citizens of Oz take pains to avoid looking at her house. Small children dare each other to run and touch her door. If Glinda is aware of this behaviour, she does not acknowledge it. In fact, she doesn't acknowledge much of anything.  
  
Her hair is completely grey, and has been since her mid-forties. Her face is lined and drawn. She appears much older than fifty. She wears a shapeless, white cotton shift. It is tied with a pale pink sash, a poor imitation of the fancy and beautiful clothes she wore as Glinda the Good, socializer extraordinaire.  
  
Truth is, ever since Elphaba's death, Glinda went downhill. She was hailed as a public figure, had many admirers, organized many important social events. Her main responsibility was to orchestrate the big celebration every year as the anniversary of the death of the hated Wicked Witch of the West rolled around.  
  
Every year Glinda would spend several days ordering decorations, preparing menus, choosing color schemes. The night would come and Glinda would feel her soul split in half as she bore a happy face for all of Oz to see, while the small pearl of sanity inside her shielded itself from the massive feelings threatening to crush it.  
  
For a long time, she blamed herself. Fiercely, brutally. She tortured herself every minute with 'What If'. She toyed with the notion of using her influence and power to change history's impression of Elphaba the Wicked, but backed down. She was afraid that the town would turn its unforgiving eye on her as well. Images of the hate in their faces as they spoke of the Witch haunted her waking moments, while memories of her own disdain for Elphaba at Shiz haunted her sleep.  
  
And now, Glinda is coming apart. She gets up in the morning, feeling as if she has left another chunk of herself behind in the dreaming world. Eventually there will be nothing left on this side of reality except for an empty shell.  
  
Her slender frame has lost some of its grace, now appearing almost skeletal. Her face is permanently lined with worry, and her blue eyes are flat and dull. The orderlies watch from the outside, unaware of the battles she faces with every waking moment. They whisper, enjoying the gossip about the former social icon. Schoolgirls wonder how someone who had everything could end up like Glinda. Housewives share whispered conversations, and old acquaintences go on, as if she never existed. No one comes to visit her.  
  
Every day blurs into a pattern, and Glinda takes a small measure of comfort out of the routine. This morning, Glinda seats herself at the desk, but does not pick up the pen. She can feel herself being pulled inexorably in some direction, towards something. It adds a little more life to her eyes, puts a little more color in the pale grey cheeks.  
  
She eats all of the hot breakfast that is brought to her, much to the staff's surprise - and relief. Then, in a move that shocks the orderlies, she begins to brush her hair.  
  
An orderly slips into the room, parting the drapes. It washes the room with the pale pink glow of sunrise. Glinda does not stop him.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I want to, but what can you do?  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,  
B 


	4. And a Couple of Things Get Lost

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
AN: An author's note before the chapter! :o  
  
Anyway, sorry for the long, long delay in updating. I managed to get a new job, which combined with a case of writers block that kept me from continuing. Also, I finally got my hands on the book, which was wonderful.  
  
That said, I started this fic as a musical fic, and I will continue it as a musical fic, but I'll probably throw a few things into it from the book, that I especially liked.   
  
Now for the story.  
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Elphaba watched, and waited. She slept hidden in the day, and watched at night. She studied the building where Glinda dwells with an almost feverish intensity, noting the times where the woman is watched the least. She bode her time, devising plan after plan and discarding them with the same regularity.  
  
As she sits now in the small shed she has been using as her hideout for the past few days, she watches the waning daylight. She grows restless with the anticipation of the night and her freedom under the cover of the darkness, and settles down in the corner to wait out the sunset.  
  
"No good deed goes unpunished." She says to herself softly, thinking of her friend shut up in the rooms of her large house, regarded as a curiousity. "I sheltered Glinda from the secret of my freedom. It would have been too much for her to bear." A tear slips down her green cheek. "Of all people, I should have known how heavy a burden guilt can be." She finishes bitterly, her voice breaking. Instead of dissolving into sobs, Elphaba rises to her feet and draws her cloak tighter. She has heard the gossip through the city about how Glinda the Good had declined. Most people now thought she was quite mad. She had made sporadic appearances at the Anniversary celebration for a while, but for the last two years she had not even made a showing. Elphaba sighs, knowing that once and for all she has to put things right. She sets her chin and looks once again out the window. Judging the darkness to be just about right, she crosses the tiny shed in two quick strides and slips out the door. She moves quickly across the grounds to the house, slipping through the shadows with a practised ease.  
  
From her nightly investigations, Elphaba knows exactly what time the servants retire for the evening, except for the night attendant who checks Glinda's room at precisely midnight, and again at three. As she moves to the door, she places her hand on the handle and takes a deep breath. The door is never locked, not even the most foolish citizen of Oz would enter the house of Glinda the Good, especially not now that the woman's health had declined so. Even so, Elphaba lets her breath out in relief when the handle turns under her hand and she passes silently into the house.   
  
She walks briskly down the hallway, her steps echoing softly. From inside the rooms, the sound of her step doesn't differ much from that of an attendant. Her eyes constantly search the hallway, looking for one door in particular, as well as any sign that she could be detected.  
  
"Where is it?" She says aloud, her eyes moving from one door to the next. Her footfalls speed up as she becomes more anxious. Much more time wandering around and someone would find her.  
  
Elphaba is hurrying down hallways now, glancing at doorways. Her heart gives a frantic leap as she hears the sound of a door opening. Cursing, she ducks into the nearest room, praying that it would be empty. She closes the door softly, sighing as the footsteps continue past her hiding spot. Bringing a green hand up to rub at her eyes, she sags against the door as she turns. What she sees next opens her eyes wide with surprise, and she bolts upright, momentary fatigue forgotten.  
  
A thin woman is sitting at a wooden desk, her grey hair showing the faintest hint of the blonde it once had been. The woman doesn't look up, she seems to be staring at a sheet of paper. Elphaba blinks once, as if to make sure this isn't some cruel figment of her fatigue, but when the figure remains in front of her, she begins to tremble.  
  
"Glinda." She whispers, not trusting her voice to carry any volume right now. The figure doesn't respond. She steps closer, into the light of the room. "Glinda, it's me." She says, louder this time.  
  
Ever so slowly, the figure's head turns. The woman stares at Elphaba for a moment, and suddenly a light of recognition comes into her dull eyes. The woman's lips tremble, and she rises to her feet. Her face flushes with anger, and her thin hands clench into small fists.  
  
"You." Glinda says, in a raw voice, and much more swiftly than Elphaba expected, Glinda moves toward her.  
  
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AN: Happy Easter, all.  
  
Thanks for reading,  
~B 


	5. I Hope You're Happy

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
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Glinda sits at her small wooden desk. Her silvered blonde hair is tied at the back of her neck with a black ribbon. There is only a single sheet of paper sitting on the desk this evening, and the room seems to be in an unusual state of order, no crumpled notes strewn about. The room is dim, faint light filtering through the drapes from the lamps outside. Glinda's eyes glitter in the half-light, as she stares at the paper that appears to glow ghostly white, empty.  
  
Thoughts chase each other across her eyes. Forgotten conversations play in her mind. She glances at the clock. Twenty minutes to midnight. The attendant would be coming around soon. She briefly ponders retiring to bed, if only to keep some of the curious gossip at bay, but she can't seem to find the energy to rise.  
  
Yes, Glinda is aware of the gossip. She is aware of what people think of her. Painfully aware, as she still cares about the public's opinion. This... declination, though, seems to be beyond her control. The left corner of her mouth turns up slightly, a hint of a sardonic smile. If she could return to her carefree schooldays, she would.  
  
But for now, she can only sit at her desk, remembering her friend Elphaba, and torturing herself with guilt. And the attendants wonder why she rarely sleeps... but no, the attendants could never know what happened then, in the castle. Only Glinda knew the real Elphie. Well, Glinda and Fiyero. And look what happened to him.  
  
Glinda is interrupted from these thoughts by a sound at the door. She glances over, taking in the shadowy figure and the time on the clock. The attendant - he was early. She would have to speak to the supervisor about that. She likes routine, and dislikes interruptions.  
  
The attendant speaks her name, in no more than a whisper. She tallies another strike against him in her mind. If she wanted anything, she would have spoken first. She doesn't look up.  
  
The figure steps closer, into the dim light of the room, and speaks again. Glinda almost stops breathing. The voice is the one that speaks to her in her deepest nightmares. She refuses to believe it. It is her fatigue, it's a hallucination from her lack of sleep. It's not real. Safe in this belief, she attempts to retreat into her thoughts once more, but her head inexorably turns, and her red-rimmed eyes widen as they land on the skinny dark figure just inside the door.  
  
As realization hits her, her breath does catch in her throat. She can feel heat rising to her face, and her heart speed up. She rises to her feet, trembling slightly, but her body no longer seems to be under her own control......  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-) Just a reminder that this is based on the musical, since I mentioned a few things that definitely don't happen in the book. And there you go, I mentioned Fiyero. ;-)  
  
Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate them. Sorry about the tense issues... I usually switch to past tense briefly when writing about something that already happened in the story. I think that from this point on I won't be able to alternate chapters between Elphaba and Glinda. I'll see what I can figure out.  
  
Sorry also about the long period of inactivity. I have plans for this fic, but it's not writing as fast as I would like it to.  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	6. My Friend

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
----------------------------------  
  
Elphaba is frozen in place, as Glinda rushes towards her. Her instincts tell her to flee, to hide, to defend, but her mind tells her that this is Glinda. The Glinda she knew wouldn't hurt her.  
  
The calm, detached part of her mind surveys her friend's pale, thin face. The eyes are sunken, and the cheekbones stick out. There are a few hints, here and there, that remind Elphaba of the Glinda that she knew: A thread of gold in her hair. The corkscrew curls, a little ragged, but still falling to her shoulders. The eyes are the same, a pale blue-grey, though they appear even larger in her thin face, and worry lines wind their way around them. Elphaba takes in all these details in a split second. "Glinda... what has life done to you?" She says, in a soft tone.  
  
The words seem to snap Glinda back to attention. She halts a few feet from Elphaba, and stares for a moment. Slowly, she steps forward, one slim hand reaching out. She touches Elphaba's cloak, ever so softly, as if to make sure she was real, solid. She looks hard at Elphaba's face for a moment, her eyes wide.   
  
"No. NO!" The words are torn from her throat as she stumbles backwards. Her legs hit the chair and she sits down, heavily. She wraps her arms around herself and rocks forward, eyes never leaving Elphaba's face. "You're dead. I heard you die. I took the Grimmerie, and you died. You're _dead_." She says, close to tears.  
  
"No, Glinda. I didn't die. Fi..." Elphaba pauses, quickly choosing more careful words. "I survived. I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you." Elphaba's keen ears pick up the sound of footsteps approaching. "Sweet Oz, they can't find me here." She mutters, ducking into the shadow of the wardrobe, where she would be out of sight from the door. Glinda's haunted eyes follow her.  
  
The door opens, and a young male attendant peers in. "Miss Glinda? Is everything all right? Would you like me to help you to bed?" He asks, nervously. Glinda wipes her eyes with her sleeve, and takes a shaky breath. Her eyes dart to the corner where Elphaba is hiding. "No, thank you." She replies, waving her hand in a dismissing gesture. The attendant looks at her a moment and seems about to say something else, but instead he turns and leaves the room, closing the door softly.  
  
Hearing only Glinda's ragged breathing, Elphaba slips out of her hiding spot. Silhouetted against the curtains, Glinda is sitting at the desk. Her eyes are trained on Elphaba. She is silent, still wrapped in her own embrace. Elphaba picks up a wooden chair from beside the door and sets it down next to Glinda. Taking a seat, Elphaba moves to put a hand on Glinda's shoulder, but the woman leans away from the touch. Glinda's eyes remain fixed on Elphaba. Elphaba looks into them, trying to find a trace of the Glinda she knew behind the fear and the madness.  
  
"I'm sorry, Glinda. I don't know where to start - but I'm here." Elphaba says, softly. When this fails to elicit a response from Glinda, she sighs, suddenly feeling tired again. She rubs a jade hand across her face. "I should have realized that it would come to this." She says, mostly to herself now. She glances at the clock, as Glinda's gaze strays back to the blank sheet of paper on the desk. "It's all my fault." Elphaba's voice is heavy with emotion.  
  
At this statement, Glinda's eyes snap back to Elphaba. Her thin arm reaches out, tentatively, and Elphaba turns to her. Slowly, the two women fold each other into a tight embrace, each one holding on to the other like a life raft on stormy water.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-) Just a reminder that this is based on the musical, since I mentioned a few things that definitely don't happen in the book.   
  
Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate them. If anyone wants to offer ideas for the story, or even discuss Wicked in general, feel free to send me an e-mail. And I promise the chapters will get longer, once I get the hang of it.  
  
Thanks go out to my buddy Kyla for jump-starting me on this chapter, and for prodding me to keep it going. ;-)  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	7. For the Things I've Done

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
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Glinda sags in Elphaba's embrace, nearly becoming a deadweight. Feelings wash through her, emotions she has buried for so long that she can't even begin to sort them out. A tiny bit of fear, almost swallowed by a rush of relief. A hint of anger tempered with something she hasn't felt for the longest time... hope.  
  
The feelings swirl inside her, turning into a muddled mess that she has to shut out. It is too much to process, too many feelings for one person to have at once. So Glinda hides behind the scars that guilt left behind, and the feelings wash through her, and away.  
  
Her mind focuses on a single thought. Elphaba is alive. She turns it over in her head a few times, trying to absorb the implications of it. She thinks about detatching herself from the embrace - it, too is a new sensation. She hasn't experienced this much human contact since Elphaba died.  
  
No, Elphaba didn't die. Elphaba is alive.  
  
Finally, Elphaba pulls back and ends the embrace. Glinda returns her gaze to her lap, clasping her hands so that they are holding on to something. After a moment, her eyes dart up to find Elphaba staring at her. Glinda glances around the room, rising with surprising speed. She straightens the bedspread, closes the cupboard door, checks for dust. She attempts to smooth out her loose cotton robe.  
  
"I'm ever so sorry about the mess." She says, in a falsely cheerful tone. "Shall I get you a cup of tea?"  
  
"You don't have to be Glinda the Good for me, Glinda." Elphaba says softly.  
  
Glinda stops short, the manic light fading from her eyes. She seems to shrink a little as the weight of how much things have changed settles between them, stretching the silence into a vast wasteland of 'could have been'.  
  
Glinda settles herself on the edge of the bed, folding her arms around herself. Having Elphaba here, in her bedroom, was making the echoes come back. The voices, old conversations replaying themselves. She often spent many hours with the ghosts in her head. She longed to be able to return to those times, to do things differently. To keep things from turning out the way they did.  
  
Elphaba watches from the chair as Glinda's gaze turns inward. She rises and softly moves to sit down on the other edge of the bed. Reaching out an emerald hand, she touches Glinda's thin shoulder. "Glinda..." she starts, but at the touch, Glinda's head snaps up.  
  
"Oh, Elphie!" Glinda says, a strange look in her eye. "What have you done to your hair? It's a good thing we have no class tomorrow, I'm going to need to fix that." Her voice is high and girlish, with a bit of a strain to it.  
  
Elphaba blanches at the nickname, but holds herself together. "Glinda, it's late. The attendant will be back on his rounds soon. You should get in bed."  
  
It wouldn't have been odd for the attendant to find Glinda out of bed all night, but Glinda, still watching Elphaba like a schoolgirl, obediently slips under the blankets. Elphaba stands over her, smoothing the top cover. "Go to sleep, now." Even tired and heartbroken, Elphaba has strength to spare.  
  
She moves to the corner she had hidden in earlier, there is just enough room for her to curl up between the cupboard and the corner wall. It is dim, and she is against the same wall as the entrance. To see her, the attendant would have to come all the way into the room, and look straight at her.  
  
As Elphaba settles herself, she hears Glinda call across the room. "Elphaba, don't you wish you could go back? Do it over again?"  
  
"You can't change the past, Glinda." Elphaba replies, her voice heavy with fatigue. It still takes her a long time to fall asleep.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-) Just a reminder that this is based on the musical, since I mentioned a few things that definitely don't happen in the book.   
  
Sorry it's been a while without an update. I actually saw the July 18th show, and I'm blaming my writers block on that. I couldn't even listen to the CD for a few days afterward, and the finale still makes me cry when I listen to it... If anyone wants to offer ideas for the story, or even discuss Wicked in general, feel free to send me an e-mail.  
  
Thank you to my sister Heather, for putting up with me messaging her every two minutes, and to my reviewers, and everyone that e-mailed me/messaged me. You all rock!  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	8. Blame to Share

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
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The light wakes Elphaba the next morning, and she opens her eyes. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she looks around the room. The drapes are wide open, morning sun shining through. Glinda is sitting up in bed, hair tousled with sleep. A large, dusty looking book lies across her lap.  
  
"Oh, you're awake!" Glinda calls to her, sounding pleased. "I told the attendants to leave me alone until I summoned them, so we have the whole day."  
  
Elphaba rises to her feet, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She takes a closer look at Glinda - she still has that look in her eyes. And that book in her lap... "Glinda, is that... the Grimmerie?"  
  
Glinda giggles, and Elphaba can only stare in shock. "Yes!" Glinda says, turning a page. "Now that you're back, Elphie, we can do it... we can do it all over again! You have the power."  
  
"No!" Elphaba is surprised by the force of the word coming out of her mouth. She tries to soften her tone. "No, Glinda. The power isn't like that. I can't just do whatever I want."  
  
Glinda's eyes darken, and for a moment she appears to return to the small, sad woman Elphaba had encountered when she first entered the room. "Elphaba, don't you see what's happened?" She says softly, and her eyes search her friend's face. "How can things have gone so... wrong?" Glinda's voice breaks as she chokes out the last word. She can't shake the feeling of how badly things had turned out, it sits so heavily on her that she feels it pinning her to the bed. She has to change it, fix it. Somehow. She has to get out.  
  
Elphaba is alarmed by the sudden shifts in Glinda's personality, but she attempts to placate her, drawing close to the bed and perching on the corner. "It's not that bad, Glinda." She says. "I'm here, you're here. We're together."  
  
Glinda looks at Elphaba, her forehead furrowing into a frown. Her voice is thick with bitterness. "Sure. Everyone thinks you're dead, and they remember your life as wicked. Everyone thinks I'm... crazy." She pauses for a moment, breaking her eye contact with Elphaba to fiddle with the corner of the Grimmerie. "What about Fiyero?" She continues, softly. "What about Boq? What about Nessa? I helped kill your sister, Elphaba."  
  
Elphaba is silent. She knows what she should say, she knows that she should protect Glinda's fragile feelings, but for once, she wants someone else to take the blame. She had been burdened with blame her whole life, and even that was her own fault. She doesn't speak, but her eyes flick towards the Grimmerie, open in Glinda's lap.  
  
Glinda catches the motion, and nudges the Grimmerie towards Elphaba, retreating into her schoolgirl self again. Her old self, back when the big picture didn't matter. "Oh please, Elphie. Just take a look?" She pleads, with an ingratiating smile.  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this." Elphaba mutters, but she is already feeling a bit of her former self come back. Bubbly Glinda was always the balance for serious Elphaba. Once she had gone into hiding, she didn't have anything to keep the darkness at bay. Even Fiyero couldn't lift her from it, while he was still there. And how long could you expect a scarecrow to last?  
  
So Elphaba humours Glinda, and begins flipping the pages of the Grimmerie. Glinda watches, a huge grin on her face, her hands clasped under her chin like a child at a birthday party. Elphaba discards a few pages, and then her eyes fall on one page. It takes her a second to decode the script, but once she has it, she lingers on the page, reading it again. Glinda notices the pause and leans forward. Elphaba reads it through a third time, and then looks at Glinda. She allows a smile to break onto her face, albeit a small one. "I think I've found something." She says.  
  
Glinda's eyes dance, and she squirms out from under the covers, sitting herself right next to Elphaba. "Really, Elphie?" She asks, excitedly. "What is it? Will it bring us back so we can fix things?"  
  
"I don't know, Glinda." Elphaba says, her eyes on the book. "I have to study it some more. But I think it might help us." Elphaba is well aware of the damage rushing into things can cause. She intends to take her time with this - for once, she would use her powers right. She picks up the book and slides off the bed. "Do you have paper? I'm going to take some notes." She says, already absorbed in the task. She sits down at the desk and puts the book in front of her.  
  
"Yes, of course!" Glinda says, nearly hopping as she climbs off of the bed and brings Elphaba some paper and a pen. "And I'll go find an attendant, to fix us some food." She says. She pauses at the door and pushes her hair into order, and then slips into the hallway. Elphaba remains at the desk, absorbed in the ancient language of the Grimmerie.  
  
As Glinda leaves, Elphaba realizes that the glow in Glinda's eyes doesn't remind her of happiness. It reminds her of fever and delirium.   
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-)   
  
Thank you to my sister Heather, and to my reviewers, and everyone that e-mailed me/messaged me. You all rock! This story would not exist without you.  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	9. Pulled from Orbit

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
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Glinda steps out into the hall, and leans against the closed door. A headache throbs at her temples. The hallway wavers in front of her eyes for a moment, she feels like her head is about to split in two. She isn't sure if she has the energy to make it down the hallway, but she closes her eyes, gathers herself up, steps sideways out of her body and into her former persona. Galinda is pretty, wealthy, and popular - what could be wrong?  
  
Feeling better now, Glinda pushes herself away from the door, and begins to walk down the hall - spine straight, a bounce in her step, a plastic smile on her face. Her body cries in a protest that blooms painfully in her skull and spreads to the base of her spine, but perfect Galinda doesn't hear it.  
  
A quarter of an hour later, she returns to the room, closing the door softly. She lowers herself onto the bed, and turns towards Elphaba. "I asked for some tea - they'll prepare it and bring it up here, but they always knock first." She says, and then leans forward eagerly. "Have you found anything else in the Grimmerie?"  
  
Elphaba puts down her pen, tearing her eyes from the book. "I'm not entirely sure. This page looks promising, though." She replies. "If they're bringing tea, I should get out of sight." Elphaba rises to her feet, closing the book. "Is there room in the closet?" As soon as she finishes the sentence, a knock sounds at the door. She freezes, looking at Glinda.  
  
"Yes, yes, the winter clothes are in storage." Glinda answers quickly, waving towards the wardrobe. Elphaba opens it a crack and slips inside. Glinda sits down at the desk, pushing the book to the far corner. "Come in." She calls.  
  
A female attendant opens the door, balancing a tray with a pot of tea and some biscuits on it. She places the tray on the desk, and steps back, though her eyes linger on the Grimmerie before raising to Glinda's face. "Can I get you anything else, Miss Glinda?" She asks, dutifully.  
  
Glinda shakes her head. "No." She replies, and the attendant turns to leave. She pauses in the doorway, but Glinda has turned back to the paper on the desk. It's what they would have expected of her. Once the attendant is gone, Glinda rises and moves to the closet. She opens the door.  
  
Elphaba is sitting on the floor of the wooden wardrobe, gazing at an object in her hands. A tall, pointed black hat. "Where did this come from?" She asks softly, turning her eyes up to Glinda.  
  
Glinda takes the hat from her and places it on the top shelf of the closet. "Where do you think it came from?" She returns, a little heatedly. "After whatever magic you pulled off made you disappear, your hat was all that was left. So I took it - as a reminder." She looks down at Elphaba for a moment, and then steps back so that she can get out of the closet. Elphaba rises with a little difficulty. She returns to the desk, without meeting Glinda's gaze. After a moment, Glinda returns to her seat on the bed, staring out the window as Elphaba works silently behind her.   
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
The afternoon sun slips behind a cloud and the room dims. Glinda stirs on the bed and sits up. Rubbing her eyes, she looks over at the desk. The tea tray is still on the corner of the desk, ignored. Elphaba is still seated, writing at her paper. Glinda's movement draws her eyes and she smiles, a small, embarrassed expression. "I'll show you what I have, if you want." She says softly, in way of reconciliation.  
  
Glinda returns the smile, and slips off the bed to join Elphaba at the desk. "All right, let's see." She replies.  
  
Elphaba pulls out one sheet of paper, covered with notes written in slightly smudged ink. "I've found the page we need, I'm sure of it. This spell can help us."  
  
Glinda appears to light up - not just her face. Her spine straightens, her eyes brighten. "Oh, Elphie! Really? What will it do?"  
  
Elphaba can't help the small smile that works its way onto her face. "The spell is mysterious - I haven't figured out exactly what it will do. It could do anything from sending a message to our past selves, to actually physically sending us back there."  
  
At this statement, Glinda practically leaps up. "Elphie! We can go back!" She says, excitedly. "I knew you could do it." She rushes to her closet. "What will I wear? I can't be seen at Shiz dressed like this... and Oh! My hair..."  
  
Elphaba watches her friend rush to the closet, her eyes darkening with alarm. "Glinda..." She begins, but she is cut off.  
  
"Oh, Elphie. Call me Galinda. We're going back!" Glinda says, seeming to grow into the carefree schoolgirl of times past, right before Elphaba's eyes. Elphaba stands, and rubs a hand across her face. She doesn't know how to deal with the erratic Glinda. Her friend was not like this when she left her, so long ago. Another casualty of the Wicked Witch of the West.  
  
"Glinda!" Elphaba says firmly. "We are not going back. I am not casting this spell until I am good and ready."  
  
Glinda ignores Elphaba's comments completely, digging around in her closet for something that isn't cotton and loose. "Oh Elphie, you've been hanging around Doctor Dillamond too much. It's Galinda. With a Ga." Glinda's voice is light, attempting a carefree tone.  
  
Elphaba takes a deep, shaky breath, and crosses the room to Glinda. She takes a hold of the thin woman's shoulders, and looks her straight in the face. "Glinda. You have to stop doing this. Pretending won't take you back there." She says, her tone soft, but firm. Glinda looks up into Elphaba's face, and something in her blue eyes breaks. She pulls herself from Elphaba's grasp, and storms across the room.  
  
"No! I will not stop. I will not stop until I fix things." Glinda declares, her voice strained with emotion. "Everything went wrong, everyone died. That's not how it should have happened." Glinda stands beside the bed, her breath coming in shaky gasps, fists clenched. Elphaba remains beside the closet, her face alight with surprise and concern. As she draws near to her friend, she suddenly realizes how pale Glinda's face is, how glassy her eyes look.  
  
"Glinda, you're trembling." Elphaba gently guides Glinda down to a seat on the bed. She gathers up the top blanket. "Here, put this around you." Tenderly, the green woman wraps the blanket around her friend, and takes a seat next to her. "I'm here now. We can figure out something together."  
  
Glinda buries her head in Elphaba's shoulder, and cries.   
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-)   
  
Thank you to my sister Heather, who beta reads for me. I've bothered her so much these past few days! Thank you to 'sweet saturn', who helped me debug the first few paragraphs of this chapter. Thank you to everyone who is following this fic. This story would not exist without you. Well, it would in my head. But not here.  
  
Thanks for reading!  
Love,   
B 


	10. Good News

  
  
No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?  
  
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Afternoon dwindles into evening, and the world outside the window is enveloped in the special glow of twilight, when children rush to finish their supper and meet their friends for a game, when parents spend a special moment together as the young ones finish their schoolwork.  
  
Inside the room, Elphaba is at the desk, the Grimmerie open once more. She casts a worried glance at the sleeping form on the bed. Glinda had gotten herself very worked up. Elphaba thinks of how fragile the woman felt in her arms, the maddened look in her eyes, the unhealthy colour to her cheeks. After the outburst, Glinda had clung to her so desperately...  
  
Elphaba sighs, brushing a hair from her face as she turns back to the book. She was going to do this now. Not for herself, but for Glinda. Anything would be better for Glinda than the life she has here. Elphaba looks around at the sparse, utilitarian room. It looks so cold and impersonal. Like an institution. She thinks of the woman, shut up here all alone, until Elphaba had dropped in. And what had Elphaba accomplished? Oh, she was just responsible for re-awakening Glinda's guilty conscience, pushing her further down the road to becoming nothing but an empty shell.  
  
Elphaba scours the page, looking for something else to decode, something that would help her do this right. She wonders if she could really cast this spell - she had never been able to save anyone before, why would it help this time?  
  
Elphaba is pulled out of her thoughts as Glinda shifts on the bed. Glinda stirs, and opens her eyes. She pushes herself into a sitting position against the pillows, and looks over at Elphaba, at the desk. Elphaba looks at Glinda's pale face, flushed a little with sleep and emotion, and forces out a small smile.  
  
Glinda draws the blankets to her chin. "Isn't it cold in here, Elphie?" She says. Her voice sounds tiny and young in the silence. The room is warm, Elphaba is roasting in her black dress, but she nods. "Yes, Glinda. It is." She says, sadly, though the tone is lost on Glinda. Glinda simply nods in return, and turns her gaze to the window.  
  
Elphaba picks up the Grimmerie, and sits down on the end of Glinda's bed. Laying the book in front of her, she draws her feet up beside her.  
  
"Glinda," Elphaba begins, and is relieved to see Glinda's face turn towards her in response. "Do you remember that day we went to the Emerald city?" Elphaba is rewarded with a small smile, but the expression fades as Glinda's forehead creases.  
  
"That was the day I changed my name." She mutters, in a barely audible voice. "Why did I do that?"  
  
Elphaba remains silent, until she realizes that Glinda was asking a genuine question, and not just re-thinking past decisions. "It was because of Dr. Dillamond." She replies, gently.  
  
"Yes... Dr. Dillamond." Glinda muses, softly. Her words come slowly, almost laboriously. "The Goat who taught at Shiz." She sighs heavily, and closes her eyes. Elphaba realizes that she is not raising Glinda's spirits. She opens the Grimmerie to the now familiar page, and sits up straight.  
  
"Glinda?" It takes a sharper tone that Elphaba expected to rouse Glinda's attention. "I'm going to try the spell. I think it will help us change the past." She says, softly.  
  
This brings a real, though weak smile to Glinda's face. "We can go back." She murmurs.  
  
"Yes, Glinda." Elphaba responds, unable to keep the tremble from her voice. "We can go back." She still isn't sure if that is the case, but right now she needs to do it, for Glinda. She finds the spot on the page, and begins chanting.  
  
Glinda leans back into the pillows. A tiny bit of excitement thrills through her at the thought of fixing things, finally, but it seems to be all the emotion she can muster. Exhaustion sits on her eyelids like stones. She watches Elphaba chant for a bit, admiring the way the words just flow off of her tongue. Elphaba stops chanting and looks at her. She has a funny look in her eyes... is it concern? Elphaba puts a hand over Glinda's but Glinda can't feel it. Her lips move, but Glinda can't hear it. Elphaba looks positively panicked, it makes Glinda smile. Elphaba was always so serious. The room begins to grow misty, first at the edges of her vision, and then the mist spreads through until Glinda can't even see Elphaba any more. Her eyes close, heavily. She watches the mist swirl, and then, through the mist, Glinda can see it.   
  
It looks like Shiz University.   
  
THE END.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Glinda or Elphaba. I do, however, love the story and the characters, and this creative outlet. :-) This fic is based on the musical.  
  
I know some of you are going to hate me for this ending, but I like leaving things up to the imagination, and there are several ways you can see the ending. I tested it out on a few people and got at least two very different interpretations. If you want to discuss it, I love getting e-mails. :-)  
  
There are many people to thank for this fic. Everyone who read it, of course. All of my reviewers. nancystagerat and sweet saturn, for giving me constructive advice and e-mails. My sister Heather, for beta reading from the beginning. And Kyla, Shilo, Beth, Cullen, and Kris for helping me test out and polish the ending.  
  
So that's it. It was never meant to be a long fic. This is the first fic I've ever finished. And no, I don't intend to write a sequel, sorry. This was a sequel, to Wicked. Besides, if you take the ending a certain way, there can't be a sequel. ;-) I'm sad that it's over, I didn't realize I'd get so attached to my characters, but it was just my first Wicked fic. I've already started on my next one. It's about Nessa. Look for 'The Girl in the Mirror' on a website near you. :-p  
  
Fare thee well, and happy reading.  
Love,   
Jenny  
(LadyBianca)  



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